Movies about
baseball, especially its past, often fall prey to an overly sepia-tinged
nostalgia, content to let the game's emotional hold on fans do the work of a
story. The new biography of Jackie
Robinson, "42," isn't one of the
worst offenders in this regard, but it's one of the best reminders that
sometimes there's nothing wrong with a little of that diamond hokum. Well-cast and meticulous in its authenticity,
"42" is a testament to the man who broke baseball's color barrier that should
be appreciated by fans and non-fans alike.

It's an unfortunate
cliché that Hollywood films about the accomplishments of African-Americans are
often told as the triumphs of white people ("Mississippi Burning," "The Blind
Side"), but it's appropriate in this case to tell the story of two men: Robinson (Chadwick Boseman) and Brooklyn
Dodgers general manager Branch Rickey (Harrison Ford), who made the decision to
challenge baseball's racist status quo by calling up Robinson to the majors in
April 1947.

Screenwriter Brian
Helgeland, in the director's chair for the first time since 2003's "The Order,"
follows Robinson over the course of his rookie season in 1947. Narrowing the focus this way avoids the
predictable arcs of a cradle-to-grave bio, but putting Robinson's historic
debut in the film's first third diminishes the narrative momentum a bit.

Nonetheless, it's a
hard story to screw up. Faced with
unvarnished racism from fans, opponents, and even some of his own teammates,
Robinson had the confidence and courage to withstand the worst vitriol hurled
his way. In the film, as in reality,
that nadir occurs during an early-season series in Philadelphia, where Phillies
manager Ben Chapman (Alan Tudyk) hurls a stream of the nastiest racial epithets
Robinson's way every time he's up at bat.

Helgeland goes out
his way to adhere to the historical record, with the Chapman incident (and the
resulting fake-conciliatory photo op) taking its place alongside the on-field
embrace from Pee Wee Reese (Lucas Black) in Cincinnati and the suspension of
Dodgers manager Leo Durocher (Chris Meloni) just before the season began as
historically accurate details. The
August spiking Robinson received, requiring eight stitches, from Enos 'Country'
Slaughter, is replicated right down to the newspaper quotes.

Digital recreations
of Ebbets Field, Crosley Field, and Forbes Field ring true, but pleasing the hardball
historians doesn't interfere with entertaining folks who've never heard of
those departed shrines. Ford, as the
curmudgeonly Rickey, seems to actually be enjoying himself, and Boseman holds
his own in his scenes with the intimidating star. He also does a more than passable job of
capturing Robinson's willpower, intelligence, and charm without deifying the
guy. Nicole Beharie, as Jackie's wife
Rachel Robinson, and John C. McGinley, as broadcaster Red Barber, also impress.

Spike Lee wanted for
years to make a Jackie Robinson film, and I hope he still gets his chance. Another take, maybe angrier or more polemic,
could be fascinating, and the heroism of Jackie Robinson was significant enough
to justify more than a few movies.